


Bits and Bobs, Odds and Ends

by Shaicarus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Cousland is a handsy bastard, F/M, Fade-diving might be a thing? Who knows, Gen, M/M, No Porn, Oneshots and drabbles for every occasion, Tabris is a flake, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaicarus/pseuds/Shaicarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, oneshots, and ficlets for Dragon Age, most of them involving my Tabris and Cousland Wardens. As such, some of them will be connected to each other but able to be read as standalone stories, and others will just be random moments. They will frequently be rather Alistair-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I have been slightly obsessed with Dragon Age lately, so of course that led to me getting an account here to spam anyone who will pay attention with short stories. Fun times.  
> Some of these will be about my Darrik Tabris, others about my Caje Cousland (Cah-j'ay), and many of them will be about Alistair because I love him.  
> But I doubt anyone actually cares about any of that.
> 
> Pairings: None  
> Characters: Alistair, Male Cousland  
> When: Mid-Origins

Alistair didn't yell often, and even when he did it was never particularly intimidating. But he was most definitely yelling at that moment, and for once it didn't make him feel like he was about to cry like an infant. He had never liked Lady Isolde, much like she had never liked him, but he had never wished that sort of fate upon her. He wouldn't even wish that kind of fate upon _Loghain_. He could still see the geyser of blood when he closed his eyes.

He was cut off mid-sentence, however, by Caje shouting, "I'm doing the best I can, Alistair! I'm a noble brat, not a general!" His voice cracked, and Alistair felt instantly guilty.

"Caje--"

"People are dying, and people _keep_ dying, and I'm doing everything I can, but I can't stop it all," Caje plowed onwards, and Alistair was too taken off guard by the normally smooth-talking Cousland's breakdown to interrupt. "The Circle couldn't help us, and the only other option was to kill Connor, and that would have been _so much worse_ , and I'm _sorry_ , this isn't what I wanted, and if you start hating me, I'm not going to be able to keep doing this." He scrubbed one hand roughly over his eyes.

Before he was even aware he was moving, Alistair tugged Caje into a hug that probably could have cracked ribs.

Caje managed a startled, "Wha--?" before he evidently decided to just go with it, leaning his forehead against Alistair's shoulder.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Alistair said quietly, when he was holding Caje back at arm's length once more. "And I don't hate you. Just…" He shook his head. "It's just been a bloody awful day, and I shouldn't be yelling at you."

"If there had been _any_ other option--"

"I know," Alistair assured him.

Evidently comfortable in the knowledge that Alistair was not going to abandon him to fight the Blight alone and did not hate him, Caje dropped down into the grass with a blustering sigh and flopped over onto his back. He reached up with one hand, groping around until he caught Alistair's fingers, and he pulled the former Templar into the grass with him. Alistair went down with a startled yelp, blinking at his abrupt change in altitude. 'Just go with it' was more or less the motto of their friendship, though, so Alistair simply sprawled onto his back as well.

The sun had set and the moon was well into the sky when Alistair wondered idly, eyes following the path of a shooting star, "Do you think we should've helped the others set up camp?"

"I'm on vacation," Caje informed him primly. "Banish such notions, or I'm ejecting you from my vacation."

"Ah, right. Got it." Alistair nodded sagely and fell silent again.

Eventually they would get cold and need to head to camp, or one of the others would get impatient at their absence and come fetch them, but at least for a few moments, the evening was improving. They would take what they could get.


	2. Another Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Alistair/Anora, implied M!Tabris/Zevran  
> Characters: Alistair, Male Tabris, Zevran, Anora, a mabari with a ridiculous name, a mabari with a less ridiculous name, an adorable OC child, and the OC that now serves as the head of King Alistair's guard  
> When: Post-Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda figure Alistair and Anora could learn to love each other without much of an issue. Also my Tabris is kind of a flake who is incapable of staying in one place.

There was probably some sort of work he was supposed to be doing. There always was; his job was never done, and that was a fact he had long ago resigned himself to. But the weather was unseasonably mild and the sun was out, so Alistair deemed it a good day to take fifteen minutes to hide in the gardens before the nobles and paperwork found him.

Besides, it wasn't as if he was hiding by himself.

He sighed slowly as his little blonde hellion of a daughter tried unsuccessfully to scale the ivy on the garden wall.

"Shasta, sweetie, get down from there," he scolded gently. "Marcy, you know you aren't supposed to let her do that."

The mabari folded her ears back and sulked, but dutifully nudged her small master with her nose until the girl clambered back down to the ground.

Undeterred, Shasta simply climbed onto Marcy's back, as if the hound was some sort of misshapen pony.

"That is adorable."

Alistair was on his feet and facing the voice with his sword half-drawn before he even realized that he was moving. He froze before anything unfortunate could happen, though, staring at the intruding elf with wide, stunned eyes. His sword slid back into the sheath.

Darrik Tabris offered a sheepish grin, hands raised in surrender. "Sorry."

Alistair laughed incredulously and threw himself at him, hefting Darrik off of the ground in a hug and twirling him in a circle.

"Where in the Void have you _been_?" he demanded, once Darrik's feet were on stable ground once more. "Maker's breath, how long has it been? Fifteen years?"

"Give or take," Darrik replied, smoothing his tunic back down and fighting away a grin.

"You've barely aged a day," the king observed, just a bit pouty. "That's entirely unfair."

"And you're going all silver," Darrik stated in return, sounding faintly bemused by the idea of Alistair getting older.

"I've you to thank for that," Alistair shot back wryly. "Being king is hard. I started going gray before I was even thirty, so thanks for that."

Darrik was silent for a moment, until Alistair cracked a grin to let him know it was a joke, and finally the Warden laughed.

"Papa?" Shasta called, as Marcy nudged at Alistair's leg. "Who're you talkin' to?"

Alistair scooped the girl up, and Darrik looked to be about half a second away from cooing at them like they were a pair of kittens.

"You remember all of those stories I told you about my adventures with the Hero of Ferelden?" Alistair asked, waiting for Shasta to nod before he added, "This is him."

The princess squealed in delight, small hands coming up to cover her mouth.

"Really?!"

"Really. Meet Darrik Tabris."

Darrik crossed his arms over his chest in a salute and bowed slightly at the waist. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Still giggling, the girl returned the salute, the motion made clumsy from her position in her father's arms.

Carefully, Alistair set her down. "Why don't you go tell Mari who you just met?"

Head bobbing in a rapid series of nods, Shasta scampered off with Marcy trotting behind her.

"Mari?" Darrik wondered.

"Technically he's the head of my personal guard, but he's also the one who most often gets put on Shasta detail. Where's Zevran?"

Darrik cleared his throat to hide a laugh. "Lurking around. He doesn't want you to see him."

Alistair's eyebrows quirked upwards. "He does know that if Mari spots him he's going to shoot him without asking any questions, right?"

"Well, he didn't seem to spot _me_ ," Darrik pointed out.

Alistair laughed. "Oh, trust me, he did. Probably before you even startled me. But you're the Hero of Ferelden. Everyone knows what you look like."

Darrik pouted. "Wonderful." He glanced over his shoulder. "Zev! Quit hiding! You look fine, anyway."

The assassin appeared a moment later, reluctant and vaguely sulky as he dropped down from the garden wall. His hair had all been cropped reasonably short, sometime rather recently, as in his irritation he had to stop himself from pushing invisible hair from his face. Beyond that, he too looked rather unchanged by time, save for the addition of a few laugh lines.

"What'd you get in it?" Alistair asked, sugar-sweet, his hands clasped together behind his back.

"We had a run in with a spider the size of a covered wagon," Zevran groused in reply, his pout intensifying when Alistair started laughing behind his hands. Darrik pat the assassin on the shoulder sympathetically.

They stayed for dinner, of course, Alistair leading them back into the castle, past a rather stern looking elf who turned his attention away from Shasta only long enough to salute as they passed. They were greeted in the corridor outside the dining hall by a lanky, half-grown hound who stared up at Alistair with the adoration that only an imprinted mabari could manage.

They were greeted in the dining hall by a rather startled Anora.

"Alistair, is that…?"

"Nothing to worry about, my darling." Alistair gave her a peck on the cheek. "They decided to follow me home like strays."

"After you invited them in, I'm certain," she replied with fond exasperation. "You do recall that we have the Bann of Waking Sea joining us this evening, do you not?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Alfstanna won't mind." He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow quirked expectantly. "Darrik, be on you're best behavior. Zevran, you're not allowed to talk."

Zevran opened his mouth to reply, only to cut off with a muffled laugh when Darrik clapped a hand over his mouth.

Dinner went well enough, though, even if Alistair was entirely positive that Darrik kicked Zevran under the table at least a dozen times (Alistair wasn't convinced that Alfstanna would particularly mind Zevran's usual commentary, but it was the principle of the thing, and the fact that Anora was scary when she was stern). Afterwards, as Anora conversed with Bann Alfstanna, Darrik and Zevran followed Alistair into his office, the king's mabari trotting after them.

"Did you really manage to get rid of the Calling for good?" Alistair wondered, leaning on the edge of his desk.

Darrik shrugged and rocked back on his heels. "All signs point to yes, but I guess time will tell."

"Things got a little hairy for a while," Zevran groused, "and the Calling was triggered a bit prematurely for…pretty much everyone."

"I had noticed," Alistair returned flatly.

There was silence for a moment, as if both elves had managed to forget that, king or not, Alistair was technically still a Warden. Finally, Darrik asked, "How'd you handle it?"

"I muddled through," Alistair replied, shrugging subtly. "I couldn't exactly go haring off to follow the Call, so I just…ignored it and gave Mari orders to deal with it if it seemed like I was becoming dangerous. I'm still not allowed in the wine cellar, though." He meant for the last bit to be funny, but all he won for his efforts was a supremely sad look from Darrik.

Alistair cleared his throat behind one hand. "But that's not what you both came to discuss! Will you be staying the night?"

"Unfortunately not," Zevran replied. "We're heading for Amaranthine." With a loose, flippant gesture of his hand, he explained, "Something about making sure it hasn't fallen apart while he was gone. Plus, I have never seen Vigil's Keep."

Alistair frowned for a moment, but he forced the expression from his face quickly, in favor of a lopsided grin. "Ah, figures. At least try not to be strangers in the future." He pushed away from the desk. "Barkspawn and I will show you out."

Alistair wrangled a hug out of both Darrik and Zevran, ruffling Zevran's newly short hair and laughing when the assassin swatted him away indignantly.

They left far too quickly, with laughter and grins and promises to keep in touch.

Later, when Alistair was stripped to his small clothes and sprawled face-down on his bed, Anora observed quietly, "It's good to see the Hero of Ferelden still in one piece. They seemed to be doing well."

"Mmhmm," Alistair hummed in agreement, muted by the bedding.

"Will we be seeing more of them?" Anora wondered as she laid down beside him, her hands folded over the back of one of his shoulders and her chin resting on her knuckles.

"Probably not," he replied, still muffled before he finally turned his head so he could speak to something other than the bedding. "If anything goes wrong I've no doubt they'll come galloping back to help, but beyond that, I'm afraid we're probably just too tame."

"Being friends with the king isn't enough adventure for them?" Anora mused with wry amusement.

Alistair yawned against the blanket. "Unfortunately not. Sometime after I stopped adventuring, I imagine I became markedly less adventurous. Strange how that happens."

Anora kissed his cheek. "Well, perhaps you're underestimating them."

"Maybe." He shifted to sling one arm haphazardly around her. "But I never exactly expected him to stick around forever, anyway. He had more important things to do."


	3. Another Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Mild Zevran/M!Cousland  
> Characters: Alistair, Male Cousland, Zevran, two mabaris, and a wolf  
> When: Post-Inquisition  
> Same timeline as ch. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things are eternal, even across timelines. Barkspawn is one of those things.  
> And yes I romanced Zevran in both play throughs shut up  
> Anyway, some characterization aspects (in this bit to some extent, but mostly just in this timeline in general) are based on game choices I made. I duel specialized Zevran as a ranger, and so he has a wolf.  
> And the way I wound up playing Caje, it kinda seemed like he figured he knew what was best for EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD and then he married Anora.

It was late--late enough to be considered early, truly--but the fortress was not entirely asleep. Grey Wardens rarely slept restfully even without a Blight, and they could still be found awake, some in the kitchen, others in the library, and others still in the practice yard, trying to bludgeon each other into exhaustion in the snow.

Alistair sat at his desk, a half-empty bottle of wine sitting before him and acting as a paper weight to the mess of paperwork that he was steadfastly ignoring. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating the ceiling dimly, and Barkspawn slept on his feet.

He should have been in bed, but knowing that never actually made it any easier for him to sleep. He had intended to at least be a bit productive in his insomnia, but mostly all he managed was staring off into space and gradually running out of wine.

There came a series of three heavy, purposeful knocks on the door, and Alistair finally pulled his attention away from the ceiling, his brows furrowing in concerned confusion. After a certain time of night, guests never boded well.

"Enter."

The door swung inwards with a drawn out creak.

"So. Warden-Commander," the visitor mused, leaning in the door frame and tapping his chin with one finger. "You've gone up in the world." Caje Cousland grinned, Zevran lurking behind him, a mabari hound and a wolf lurking further behind them both.

They looked…older, for obvious reasons. Caje's faded blond hair was scattered with white, and Zevran's braid seemed to be reaching for his waist. There were a few crow's feet where there hadn't been before, and the mabari was most definitely not the one Alistair had last seen (and the wolf was just new in general). Updating his mental image of them was…odd. And unexpected.

Eyes wide, Alistair stood up so quickly that he slammed his knee into the desk and sent Barkspawn scampering, the hound hip-checking the desk in his haste and sending the wine bottle toppling to the floor, where it shattered into a dozen pieces. Alistair ignored both the pain in his knee and the glass in favor of gaping dumbly.

"Graceful," Zevran drawled.

Caje offered a crooked grin, one hand covering it ineffectually. "Sorry," he mumbled behind his fingers. "Should I have sent a note ahead of us?"

Alistair's jaw worked silently for a few seconds before he finally managed to force out, "I--I just wasn't expecting you here _in person_."

Caje blinked and his brows slowly furrowed in confusion. He scratched his chin and finally stepped fully into the room, Zevran shoving the door closed a pace behind him.

"Why wouldn't I show up in person?"

Alistair dragged one hand through his hair, the silver at his temples standing out even more as he mussed it. "Well, just…I'm kind of accustomed to being the last to know?"

Zevran tensed almost imperceptibly and slid a narrow glance towards Caje, who flinched.

"Care to elaborate?" the assassin wondered, sweet and acidic.

Alistair finally set about picking up the pieces of glass from the wine bottle, if only because it gave him excuse to not look at them as he said, "Well, I figured you were off doing something when you stopped writing, but I didn't know Caje had gone bounding off into the wilderness until I stopped by Denerim and Anora told me." He had been trying so hard to sound casual, to sound like he hadn't been hurt, but it finally fell apart when he spat, "She felt _sorry_ for me."

Caje cringed again, folding his arms over his chest as he seemed to shrink. Zevran, for just a split second, looked absolutely outraged, before his expression eased back to neutral again.

Alistair dumped the glass on his desk and grabbed his napkin from dinner to haphazardly sop up some of the wine. He tossed the napkin back onto the desk and headed for the door, head low.

"It's late and I should get some sleep. You can find empty quarters on the next floor up, if you plan on staying."

"Ali…"

"I'll talk to you in the--"

"Ali, please." Caje caught his elbow, pulling him to a halt.

" _What_." It didn't come out anywhere near the conversational tone Alistair had been aiming for, but that seemed to be the theme of the evening and he couldn't exactly un-say it.

"Just talk to me."

"What am I supposed to say?" Alistair demanded, gaze fixed on the corner of the door. "You were my king in all but title; I would have followed you to the Void and back and you _know that_." His eyes burned, but Maker damn it, no, he was forty years old, he was not going to start weeping like a child again; he'd done enough of that during the Blight. "And when I said you were the best friend I'd ever had, I said it under the assumption you at least felt similarly." His voice cracked, and that was it. He wrenched his arm free from Caje's grip and hauled his office door open. He stepped out into the corridor and let the door fall closed. Just barely, he caught Zevran slipping out behind him from the very edge of his vision, the wolf padding along in his wake.

They were halfway down the corridor before Alistair acknowledged the assassin.

"What do you want, Zev?" he asked, and he sounded tired to his own ears.

Zevran came to a halt in front of him, inspecting him for a moment. And then, unexpectedly, he stretched up onto his toes and pulled Alistair down into a hug.

"What."

Alistair's gaze darted in confusion and his hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, but it wasn't until he returned the abrupt embrace that Zevran finally let him go.

"If I had known he hadn't told you," Zevran finally said, "I would have told you myself. I shall…have words with him. You deserved better. Much better."

"Thanks."

"And _you_ will have words with him as well," the assassin added, folding his arms over his chest and looking up at Alistair with an expression that brooked no argument.

Alistair cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. "Are you sure--?"

"Alistair, I know you." The elf's expression softened marginally even as one eyebrow ticked upwards. "You will resign yourself to your lot in life and pretend it's fine. Being the magnanimous sort, I'm not going to let you do that."

Alistair laughed despite himself, dragging one hand down his face. "Alright, fine, you're right. You win. I doubt he'll let me just walk away anyway, so I'll talk to him when he inevitably barges into my room. But first, I have a question."

"Hm?"

"The wolf?" the Commander wondered.

Zevran's expression brightened and he looked about half a second away from snuggling the beast in question right there in the hall.

"This is Bel! I found her, and now she is mine. There was a bear for a while, but then she wandered off and the last time I saw her she had cubs, so I thought it best to leave her be."

A wolf. And a bear. Alrighty then. Alistair laughed again, shaking his head. "It's good to see you again, Zev."

"And you as well, my friend. And again, I apologize for Caje being…Caje."

"You and me both."

\--

Alistair couldn't sleep, thoughts circling around themselves, only interrupted when Barkspawn nosed his door open and trotted in. The hound hopped up onto the bed, shoved Alistair's feet aside, and curled up into a ball that seemed far too small compared to the dog's standing height.

Alistair stared at the ceiling, one arm crooked under his head, the other folded over his chest. He wasn't sure how long he lied there, but there was the distant, faintest light of sunrise by the time he heard the door creak open and he lifted his head.

Caje swore quietly. "You were supposed to be asleep."

"You were always the courageous leader," Alistair remarked wryly as he sat up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hands in his lap.

Caje closed the door quietly as he stepped inside. "To be fair, you outrank me now."

"Yeah, but I'll never be the Hero of Ferelden," Alistair replied.

"Aw, Ali," Caje cooed, "You know you'll always be the hero in my heart."

Alistair rolled his eyes and threw his pillow at him. Laughing, Caje caught it and dropped himself down on the edge of the bed. They lapsed into silence.

Finally, Alistair sighed, shoulders shifting with the breath. "What'd you come in here for, Caje?"

Caje contemplated the wall for a few seconds before he evidently came to some sort of decision, his expression growing determined. He shifted sideways on the bed, one leg drawing up onto the mattress, so he could face Alistair. He took Alistair's face in his hands to make very sure they were looking at each other.

"Alistair, you are the best friend I've ever had. I wouldn't have been able to get through the Blight without you, and the entire mess with ending the Calling would have been so much better if you'd been with me. You are fantastic, and anyone who says otherwise is going to get their ass kicked. If _you_ say otherwise, I will _especially_ kick your ass."

"That's all very sweet," Alistair replied, marginally unimpressed with the entire speech, his fingers curled loosely around Caje's wrists, "but that just makes this entire mess even more baffling."

Caje smiled crookedly. "I needed to know you would be keeping an eye on the Wardens--that I would have someone I trust close to them--and I figured that wouldn't happen if you knew where I was. You'd want to go with me."

Alistair could feel his expression twist in offended outrage, and he yanked himself backwards, out of Caje's hold.

"So that's it, then?" he snapped, shoving himself to his feet so he could pace the few feet from the bed to the wall and avoid looking at Caje's stunned expression. "I'm so blighted unreliable that I can't be trusted not to go prancing off the moment something better comes up, responsibilities be damned. Thanks for throwing that out into the open, you really cleared the air."

Caje stood, hands hovering in front of himself like he wanted to reach for Alistair. "Ali, I didn't--"

"Didn't _what_?" Alistair dropped his face down into one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Didn't mean it, didn't think, or didn't think I'd care? Keep in mind, that first option isn't actually valid."

Slowly, carefully, Caje stood and approached him, pulling Alistair into a rigid, one-sided hug. Alistair imagined it was a bit like trying to hug a Darkspawn. Maybe one of the smart ones, to be charitable.

"You're right, and I'm sorry," Caje breathed, sounding nervous. "I should have told you; you deserved that much and I misjudged you when I should've known better. And if it's any consolation, Zev is never going to let me hear the end of it." He leaned back, hands on Alistair's upper arms. "What can I do to fix it?"

Alistair's expression warred between anger and exasperation before finally settling somewhere in between, on resignation. "You're going to give me at least a day of space. At least a day where I can just be properly angry without feeling guilty every time I look at you. And then I'm going to kick your ass across the training yard so hard that it lands in Denerim. And then you can do that whole 'earning forgiveness' thing."

Caje nodded rapidly. "Got it." He took a step back and started slowly inching towards the door, as if waiting for Alistair to ask him to stay. Finally, he turned to grab the door knob.

"Caje?" Alistair called, as the door creaked open.

Caje turned, expression hopeful. "Yeah?"

"I missed you."

Caje smiled, bright and boyish and exactly like Alistair remembered. "I missed you, too."

The door closed quietly behind him.


	4. You Lost Your Mind in the Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: implied Male Hawke/Anders  
> Characters: Carver, Fenris, Justice, Varric, Cole, Anders  
> When: Post-Inquisition  
> Same timeline as chapters one and three, but stands on its own  
> Title comes from King by Lauren Aquilina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written Varric before. Or Cole. Or Fenris or Carver or Justice. But I like them all (and Cole is my precious baby) and the idea wouldn't leave me alone, so here you go.

Cole appeared, dust flying up behind him as he breezed forward, and Varric nearly dropped Bianca in surprise.

"Maker's ass, Kid, you need to stop--"

"You must come."

He sounded…urgent, but not to any panic-inducing levels.

"What's wrong, Kid?"

"Not…wrong, but gone, buried, so many layers beneath the surface, the sun has left him and it is dark. You must come."

He caught Varric by the wrist and began towing him along, walking backwards until he was sure the marksman was coming, and then he turned around and picked up his pace.

Varric followed him down the stairs, across the yard, down another set of stairs, and to the stable, where Dennet was fussing over a trio of exhausted and unfamiliar horses. One of them tried to take a stable hand's hand off, though, so Varric figured they would be alright.

Cole grabbed Varric by the shoulders and turned him to face the trio standing off to the side: presumably the horses' riders. One of them had the hood of his cloak drawn up, but the other two…

"Fenris? Carver?" Varric laughed before he could help it. "Well, get me stilts and call me a Qunari. What brings the two of you to Skyhold? Who's that you've got with you?"

Carver glanced at the hooded figure and swatted his shoulder. "No one here is some swooning maiden; you can drop it."

Dutifully, he pushed his hood down, and Varric sucked in a breath.

His hair was still blonde, though there was more of it than the last time they had met. And the blue cracks had expanded, so that the glowing eyes blended seamlessly into the skin around them, and almost the entirety of the left half of his face was overtaken by the spectral glow.

"…Justice."

Justice inclined his head minutely.

"Hawke asked us to check on Anders," Fenris explained quietly, "in the event that anything happened to him. In case Anders did something dramatic and needed to be put down."

"Your letter got there before we did," Carver added morosely, "and this is how we found him. We've yet to see the _actual_ Anders." He glanced pointedly at the spirit. "Coming here seemed like the best way to keep him from causing a panic, what with the…glowing."

"Ah, shit," Varric sighed, and he scratched the back of his head. This was not what he needed. "Justice, you can't--you need to let him go."

Fenris and Carver shared a glance. In fact, they seemed remarkably unbothered by the entire situation.

"I do not hold him against his will," Justice informed him evenly. "He sleeps, and he does not wake. Until he does, I am at the forefront."

Varric stared. Losing Hawke to the Fade had been devastating. For all of them, most likely. But could Anders really have taken it that hard?

Who was Varric kidding? Of course he could have. Anders did nothing by halves.

"Not grieving, but hunting," Cole said suddenly, looking at Justice from beneath the brim of his hat. "Sorting and sifting through mist and dust and dream, like so much sand through his fingers, countless and infinite and everywhere, swept along by sleeping shores. Lost, buried deep in the aether, but what's lost can be found, like shells in the surf, glittering in the sun."

Varric's breath caught in his throat. That sounded like--no. It couldn't be. Could it?

…Anders did nothing by halves.

Varric strode forward a few steps and tugged at Justice's cloak. The spirit knelt without complaint, and Varric took the spirit's face in his hands, to make very certain that he was paying attention.

"Listen up, Blondie. I may not like you much right now, but if anyone can find Hawke and drag his sorry ass out of Fade, it's you. If you pull this off, I will get you an entire litter of kittens. Might just have 'em myself."

The blue glow didn't cease or fade, but it softened somewhat, and the corners of Justice's mouth pulled up, just the smallest bit, in a most un-Justice-like smile.

"I'll hold you to that."


End file.
